Disclaimer: While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate as far as is consistent with the fantasy world of Narnia, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Rawlstow are not to be regarded as authoritative.
Narnia and recognizable characters thereof are the property of the estate of C. S. Lewis; all original characters and story © 2015 FemaleChauvinist. Cover art © 2015 FemaleChauvinist.
Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety.
A/N: This story's main character is introduced in my stories "Vulpes Medico: Winter's End" and "Vulpes Medico: Clever Fox," so you might wonder about some things if you haven't read those first. Barbie
Ninth year of Golden Age
"You are not going alone, Lucy," the high king Peter insisted firmly.
"There's nothing in Narnia that would harm me, Peter!" Lucy protested. "And if there was — and Lucy the Valiant couldn't defend herself — the Talking Animals would protect me."
"That may be true," Peter admitted, "but even so, no sister of mine is going unescorted into the wilds of Narnia."
"Then you come with me," Lucy begged, smiling impishly at him.
Peter grinned and tweaked her nose, finding it hard to resist that look. "Can't; an ambassador's coming about courting Susan, and I have to be here."
Lucy wrinkled her nose. "They all want Susan for queen!"
Peter chuckled. "They'll be after you soon enough, too, Lu."
"But my nose turns up, and I have freckles," Lucy said ruefully.
Peter nearly shook his head; comparing herself to Susan, Lucy never realized how attractive she really was. "Some men like freckles and pert noses," he said mildly. "And you have a kind heart and a merry smile, which is better. But don't worry about suitors yet." Privately, he was glad she was a bit young for her age, not interested in any of the young men from other courts. Susan had received and even encouraged romantic attention since she was younger than Lucy, though Peter had refused to consider any as suitors until he deemed her of marriageable age.
"I won't if you'll let me go riding," Lucy begged.
Peter chuckled, thinking again of the odd relationship he had with his sister. Though she was co-ruler with him, and an able queen despite her age, he and Susan had essentially raised her and Edmund while little more than children themselves. The Narnians had helped, of course, but in the end the welfare and training of their younger siblings had been on the shoulders of the two older sovereigns of Narnia.
"I think Edmund is free," he told her now. "Go find him and see if he'll escort you."
"Oh, Peter!" Lucy squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek before spinning and running from the room, already calling her brother. "Edmund! Edmund!"
oOo
The next morning found Edmund and Lucy in the northern woods of Narnia, breaking up the camp at which they had spent the night. Suddenly Lucy screamed and Edmund whirled, his dagger already in his hand. "What's wrong?" he demanded, leaping to her side and crouching in an attitude of readiness.
"A-a spider bit me," Lucy said, her voice quavering slightly.
Edmund relaxed, sheathing his dagger and dropping to kneel at her side. "Let me see," he said, holding out his hand for her arm.
Lucy shook her head, hiding her wrist in the folds of her skirt. "I'm all right; it just startled me, and I don't like spiders."
Edmund looked hard at her, nearly ready to insist. But the colour was already coming back to her face, and Lucy was nothing if not truthful.
"All right," he said, nodding and getting to his feet. "I'll finish saddling your horse for you."
Lucy gave him a smile that was only slightly strained. "Thank you, Edmund."
oOo
At first Edmund glanced occasionally at Lucy as they rode, but as she seemed to be her usual chipper self, he eventually nearly forgot the incident.
They had been riding several hours and Edmund was several paces ahead when the sound of Lucy's voice recalled it to him in an instant.
"Edmund," she called weakly. "I…don't…feel well."
Alarmed, he turned in the saddle. "Lucy!" Wheeling around, he arrived at her side just in time to catch her as she slipped from the saddle. "Lucy, what's wrong?"
"Sick…dizzy," she mumbled. "Arm hurts…fingers numb."
Swiftly Edmund pushed back the sleeve covering her bitten wrist. Streaks of fiery red were spreading up her arm, while the area immediately around the bite was dead white.
"Aslan's mane," Edmund breathed. "Lucy, you should have said something sooner."
Lucy opened her mouth to answer but retched instead, and Edmund swiftly dismounted with his sister in his arms, holding her as she vomited.
"Shh," he murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead as the violent spasms eased.
Lucy leaned against him, trembling, and Edmund rocked her gently. "Lu, do you have your cordial?"
Lucy shook her head miserably. "Peter didn't want me carrying it around…using it for every little thing."
Edmund's heart sank, but he tried to keep his fear from Lucy as he cradled her close, combing his fingers through her hair. "Shh, Lucy; you're going to be all right." Please, Aslan, let her be all right.
In a nearby tree, high above the two sovereigns, a bluebird cocked its head. Unable to restrain its curiosity, it fluttered closer, branch by branch, until it sat in front of Edmund and only a few feet above his head. Pretending not to have noticed the two humans, it sang a short snippet of song.
Edmund glanced up sharply, at once recognizing the bird for a Talking Bluebird by its larger size. "You!" he called.
The bluebird fluffed its feathers, preening importantly. "You called her Lucy. Are you one of the kings of Narnia?"
"Yes; I'm Edmund," he said shortly. "Listen, how long would it take you to fly to Cair Paravel?" He realized even as he asked that it was a desperate hope; he and Lucy had been riding several hours today, and most of the day before. "No, never mind," he admitted dully.
The bird hopped closer, cocking his head. "Does she need a healer?"
"Yes; is there one?" Edmund asked in some surprise; as far as he knew, there were no centaurs living in this part of Narnia.
"Yes; I'll get him for you!" Fluffing his feathers again at the importance of being sent on an errand by one of the kings of Narnia, the bird took off without waiting for further response.
oOo
A quarter of an hour later, the red form of a fox streaked into the clearing, following the bluebird who flew overhead. Edmund automatically looked behind the fox, still expecting a centaur, and then suddenly realized that this fox must be the healer the bird had spoken of. He was prejudiced, he realized; why had he assumed a healer had to be a centaur or at least resemble a human in some way?
All these thoughts passed through his mind in the moment before the fox came to a stop, crossing his front paws and bowing in the vulpine manner. "M'liege," he barked. "I am Rawlstow."
"You're the healer?" Edmund asked in a low, urgent tone.
"Aye, m'lord."
"Then never mind about formality; Lucy needs your help — please."
"O'course. What happened?"
"A spider bit her," Edmund explained. "She said she was fine, but after we had been riding a while she got sick and dizzy; she said her arm hurt and her fingers were going numb."
Rawlstow sniffed the air, the evidence obvious of what Edmund meant by getting sick. "How long ago was she bitten?"
"A couple hours; we were just breaking up camp."
"Did y'see the spider?"
Edmund shook his head. "I came running when I heard her scream — she hates spiders — but she had already shaken or brushed it off; I doubt she paid much attention to what it looked like, either."
"Where's th'bite?"
"Here; her wrist."
Rawlstow sniffed at the bite, then gently nudged Lucy's temple with his nose, checking her temperature and trying to get her attention at the same time. "Queen Lucy?"
Lucy moaned softly in response.
"Can y'tell me if anythin' b'sides yer arm hurts?"
"Head…aches…" Lucy murmured.
"Are y'havin' trouble breathin'?"
Lucy merely shook her head slightly against Edmund's chest.
"Look at me, Queen Lucy," Rawlstow ordered firmly.
Lucy forced open heavy eyelids. Her eyes swung wildly for a moment before seeming to focus on a point several feet behind the fox.
"Is yer vision blurry?"
"Yes," Lucy whispered, closing her eyes and curling closer against Edmund.
"I need t'listen t'yer heart an' breathin'," Rawlstow told her, glancing at Edmund as if for permission as well. Reaching into the sporran that hung at his side, he drew out a flexible tube and attached a round metal plate to the end. Hooking the other end over his ear, he pressed the plate to Lucy's chest.
Edmund blinked, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. For a moment there was a picture in his mind of a man listening to his chest, when he had been much younger, with a similar instrument. Only, hadn't that gone in both ears…? *
A moment later, he shook off the impression as the memory of a dream; certainly he had never seen such a thing in Narnia.
The fox spent several minutes listening to Lucy's chest, then tossed the end of his listener around his neck in a manner that again seemed strangely familiar.
"How bad is it?" Edmund asked hoarsely.
"I think it was probably a Calormene jumping spider, an' she may be havin' a slight allergic reaction on top of th'normal effects. We need t'get her back t'my den; this'll only help ease her head an' stomach a little." He took a small glass bottle from his sporran, deftly pulling the cork with his teeth and pouring a dose into a spoon.
Lucy swallowed the medicine without protest, and Rawlstow returned the bottle to his sporran. "It's a mile t'my den — closer t'a mile an' a quarter on paths y'c'n travel," he amended, thinking of the low shrubbery he had glided under on the way in. "C'n y'carry her that far?"
"Of course," Edmund replied quietly, gathering Lucy into his arms.
"Keep th'bite lower than her heart," Rawlstow warned. "I'll send th'dwarves t'get yer horses later."
"Never mind them," Edmund dismissed brusquely, rising to his feet with his sister cradled in his arms. "Lead the way, Fox."
Only after they had been walking for some five minutes did it occur to Edmund that the fox had never truly answered his question about how bad it was — and that was answer enough in itself.
oOo
"Rawlstow!" Edmund called sharply, his voice almost vulpine in his urgency.
The fox healer instantly paused and looked back. "What's wrong?" *
"Her breathing — it's getting kind of strange."
Trotting back to Edmund, Rawlstow stood on his hind legs and again pressed his listener to Lucy's chest. "We're only a few minutes from the den; I think she c'n hold out until we get there an' I c'n treat her properly. Tell me if her breathin' gets really laboured, or her lips start turnin' blue."
Edmund nodded, cold fear coiling through his stomach as he followed Rawlstow at a quicker pace through the woods. Soon they emerged into a clearing, and the fox led him into a hole in a bank of earth.
A den, he had called it, but Edmund felt another strange flashback as he looked at the room where the healer obviously treated his patients.
"Lay her on th'table," the fox directed.
Edmund obeyed, then stepped back. Rawlstow was instantly on his hind legs again, listening to Lucy's heart and breathing. Then he took out a curious instrument, and with a flick of his claw, a bright flame leapt up. A curved mirror directed the light to a tube, from which it emerged a bright, concentrated beam. Gently opening Lucy's mouth, Rawlstow tipped her head back and shone the beam down her throat.
"Her throat's closin'," he said succinctly. "I'll need t'put a tube down it so she c'n breathe."
Edmund swallowed hard, feeling almost as if his own throat were closing. "Whatever you have to do," he said hoarsely.
The tube the fox reached for appeared to be made of some kind of leather, stiffened yet still slightly flexible. He greased it with some kind of lubricant, then slid it down Lucy's throat with a dexterity that surprised Edmund as he compared the healer's paws to his own hands.
To Edmund his sister's breathing sounded even harsher through the tube, but Rawlstow nodded in satisfaction as he again pressed his listener to the young queen's chest. "That'll keep her airway clear so she c'n breathe," he said, tossing the listener around his neck again and turning to prepare a poultice. "Fergive me fer askin', highness, but doesn't she have a healin' cordial a' some kind?"
"Yes," Edmund answered, wondering only briefly how the fox knew about it; it was hardly a secret, and he couldn't be surprised that tales and rumours about the four sovereigns had travelled even this far north in Narnia. "But she left it home; Peter doesn't like her carrying it around because she's so tender-hearted she always wants to heal every little injury of everyone around her. You — don't think she needs it?"
The fox grunted softly and made a neat cut over the bite before applying the poultice, wrapping a bandage around it to hold it in place. "There's only s'much I c'n do," he admitted. "Calormene jumping spiders are rare in Narnia — especially so far north — but they have a strong venom, an' yer sister's reaction is worse than most. I c'n send a bird to Cair Paravel t'get the cordial; mebbe she won't need it, but by the time I'm sure it would be too late t'bring it."
"Wouldn't it be faster to take her there?" Edmund asked through stiff lips.
"We can't move her," Rawlstow told him frankly. "An' we'd have t'stop so often fer me t'check on her that it would really take longer."
"Oh, Aslan," Edmund groaned, dropping his face into his hand.
The fox swiped a comforting tongue across the side of his face before going to the front of the den to call a bird.
oOo
As the hours crawled on into night, Edmund found himself calculating over and over how long it would take for Peter or Susan to arrive with the cordial. It would likely be faster for them to send it with another bird, he realized, but in their anxiety to see Lucy for themselves, he doubted they would think of that.
Rawlstow continued checking Lucy often as Edmund paced the den murmuring prayers to Aslan. He had become skilled at reading Animals' faces over his years in Narnia, and he saw that the fox's seemed to grow graver each time he listened to Lucy's heart and breathing.
"She's getting worse, isn't she?" Edmund asked heavily.
"Aye," the fox admitted. "Th'poison had already spread too far when I put th'poultice on. Her heart is slowin'; I'll have t'give her a stimulant." He pierced Lucy's skin with what appeared to be a slender quill tipped with metal, injecting the medication directly.
"How much longer can she hold on?" Edmund asked, swallowing to moisten his dry throat.
"As long as Aslan gives her strength," the fox said gravely. "That's all that's holdin' her now."
Again Edmund groaned and turned away, burying his face in his hand.
By the time hoofbeats sounded outside the den, Lucy's lips were tinged blue and Rawlstow was massaging her heart in an effort to keep the blood flowing.
Peter reined his horse in so suddenly that it reared up, then jumped off its back before its front hooves touched the ground. He ran toward the den without pausing to help Susan dismount, stopping short and staring at Edmund with wide, haunted eyes. "Are we too late?" he asked hollowly.
"She's still breathin'," Rawlstow answered for Edmund as Susan appeared in the doorway behind her brother. "If ye have th'cordial, there's still a chance."
Peter drew out the diamond bottle and handed it to the fox. "One drop should be enough," he said in a low voice.
Rawlstow nodded sharply and pulled the cork with his teeth. Swiftly unwrapping the bandage around Lucy's wrist, he tipped the vial and let a single drop fall on the cuts he had made over the bite.
With a paw on the pulse in Lucy's other wrist, Rawlstow watched with a sense of wonder as her colour returned to normal and her breathing deepened even as the cuts in her wrist healed over without even a trace of a scar.
At last Lucy's eyes opened slowly, focusing in confusion on her siblings and the fox who was bending over her. She tried to talk, her hand going to her throat in consternation when she found she couldn't.
"Easy, m'lady," Rawlstow said gently, catching her hand with a paw. "I'm the healer, Rawlstow; I had t'put a tube down yer throat t'help y'breathe. I c'n take it out now; cough."
He slid the tube out as Lucy obeyed.
"What happened?" she whispered hoarsely.
"A spider bit you, Lu," Edmund said gravely.
"I…remember," Lucy said slowly. "It…was poisonous?"
"Aye," Rawlstow said grimly.
"Rawlstow kept you alive until a bird could get to Cair Paravel to ask Peter to bring your cordial," Edmund explained.
"I need t'check yer throat, m'queen," Rawlstow told her, picking up his light beam device. "Open yer mouth, please."
Lucy obeyed, looking cross-eyed at the instrument the fox held.
"Is yer throat sore?" he asked, extinguishing the flame.
"A little," Lucy admitted.
"Th'tube irritated it; it'll be back t'normal in a day or two." He extended a paw to help Lucy sit up, and she sniffed eagerly. "What smells so good?"
"It's near dinnertime; m'mate Vroxa has stew cookin'," Rawlstow replied.
For the first time Edmund realized he had had nothing to eat since the previous morning; he had been too worried until now to realize he was hungry.
"Yer invited t'stay," the fox continued, "but only the broth for Queen Lucy."
"But I'm hungry!" Lucy protested, pouting.
"You listen to the healer, Lucy," Peter said firmly. Crossing to the table, he held out his arms for her. "Don't scare us like that again, Lu," he whispered into her hair. *
"It's partly your fault, you know," Lucy said cheekily.
Peter raised an eyebrow. "How do you make that out?"
"You're the one who won't let me carry my cordial," Lucy reminded him. "If I'd had it, Ed could've cured me."
"She has you there, Peter," Edmund remarked.
"I suppose she does," Peter admitted.
"So I can carry it?" Lucy asked eagerly.
Peter hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "Not until you can promise me you'll save it for true emergencies."
Lucy sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. "Father Christmas gave it to me, Peter."
"Yes, but I don't think you fully realize that it's a valuable gift, and not to be used lightly."
Rawlstow yapped softly to get their attention. "Beggin' yer majesties' pardon, but th'food is this way."
"Of course, friend Fox," Peter said instantly. Shifting Lucy to his hip like a small child, he followed Rawlstow from the room.
"This is m'mate Vroxa an' our three kits," Rawlstow introduced. "Vroxa, the high king Peter, Queen Lucy, King Edmund, an' Queen Susan."
Vroxa set down her spoon and crossed her front paws to bow deeply. "We are honoured t'have ye grace our humble den, majesties." She glanced toward the table. "I apologize fer the height of th'chairs; our two-legged guests are usually dwarves."
"It doesn't matter," Susan assured her.
"Speak for yourself, Su," Peter complained good-naturedly, setting Lucy in one chair and attempting to fold his legs under the one next to her.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Lucy told the foxes with a smile. "I think the chairs are just the right height."
Peter chuckled. "You would, Lu." Lucy's feet still didn't quite reach the floor from her throne; when she sat in it long without a footstool, she always complained about her legs falling asleep.
Vroxa yapped at the kits to come to the table, then began dishing up the thick, savoury smelling stew. As Rawlstow had instructed, Lucy's bowl held only broth, and she looked longingly at the chunks of meat in Peter's dish. But as she began to eat, she found the broth so flavourful and satisfying that she barely missed the solid pieces.
Susan had taken only a single bite from her bowl; halfway through chewing it, a curious expression had come over her face, and she had seemed to have to force herself to swallow. Now she merely stirred it with her spoon, and Vroxa eyed her anxiously. "Is the stew not t'yer likin', majesty?"
Susan flushed. "It — tastes fine," she said miserably. "But…foxes…you eat…rodents…don't you?"
"Aye, we do," Rawlstow told her with a short bark of laughter. "But we don't feed them t'our two-legged guests."
"The stew is rabbit," Vroxa assured her gently.
The kits were staring at her, wide-eyed. "Why don't y'like mouse?" one of them demanded. "It's good!"
Susan swallowed hard, turning a sickly shade of green.
"Enough," Rawlstow barked. "Ye'll make th'queen ill."
Susan smiled weakly. "I'm…all right." She sipped cautiously at a spoonful of broth, and soon was feeling recovered enough to eat the entire bowl of stew.
oOo
"You have our deepest gratitude for saving our sister's life, Rawlstow," Peter said soberly when they all sat around the fire after the meal. "Name any reward you wish, and we will grant it if it lies at all in our power."
Rawlstow ducked his head, looking as if he would be blushing under his fur. "I don't need any reward, sire; it's honour enough t'have saved th'queen's life."
"Surely there must be something we can give you."
Lucy looked up; by now she sat curled on the floor at Peter's feet with a lapful of kits. "I know what reward we can give him. Rawlstow, do you have a small glass vial?"
"O'course," Rawlstow answered, going to get it more out of curiosity about what Lucy intended than with any idea of accepting.
When he returned and handed her the small bottle, Lucy unslung the diamond bottle that once more hung at her hip and pulled the stopper.
"Lucy, no," Peter said firmly.
"You said anything we could give him, Peter!" Lucy protested, twisting around to look up at him.
"Peter," Edmund said quietly. "It's her life that was saved; surely it's her prerogative to offer the reward."
Peter sighed and nodded, deferring to the Just's judgment. "Very well," he gave in.
Carefully tipping the larger bottle over the small one, Lucy counted the drops as she let them fall one by one. "…nine, ten." She fumbled for a moment to cork both bottles without spilling either, and Peter reached to help her.
"Here," Lucy said softly, holding the little bottle out to Rawlstow. "Take it, as a token of my gratitude."
Rawlstow bowed deeply over his front paws, knowing that to refuse now would be an insult. "I am honoured, m'lady."
"There are only ten drops, so mind how you use them," Lucy warned.
Peter tugged at a lock of Lucy's hair. "And just what have I been telling you about not using it for every little injury?" he teased.
"But, Peter, I have lots more than ten drops!" Lucy protested, slinging the bottle into its place and laying a protective hand over it as if fearful Peter would take it away.
"But not an infinite amount," he insisted. "Besides, people will get too soft if you heal everything for them…and the healers will forget how to do their jobs."
Lucy scrunched up her nose at him, but declined to continue the familiar argument. Neither of them would give way in the friendly banter; Peter always won by putting his foot down as high king, which Lucy declared was unfair.
Vroxa looked at the three kits now half asleep in Lucy's lap. "Bedtime for little foxes," she announced. "Come, kitlings."
Yawning widely, the kits stumbled out of Lucy's lap. One attempted to lick Lucy's hand, but missed in its sleepiness and sputtered as its tongue touched cloth instead.
"Y'should go to bed, too, Queen Lucy," Rawlstow told her.
"But I stay up lots later than this!" Lucy protested, looking up sharply.
"Lucy, you've been ill," Susan reminded her gently.
"The cordial healed me," Lucy insisted stubbornly.
"Well, I'm going to bed," Edmund said roughly. "I didn't get any sleep last night."
Lucy flushed, biting her lip, and didn't argue further.
"Lucy c'n have the featherbed," Rawlstow told them. "Th'rest o' you will have t'make do, I'm afraid."
"That's all right," Susan assured him. "We've often camped out when on hunting trips; your warm den is quite cosy in comparison."
oOo
They woke refreshed the next morning, and shared breakfast with the fox family. As promised, Rawlstow had asked the dwarves to bring Edmund and Lucy's horses back, and Peter and Susan's mounts had been tended as well.
"There may be a crowd gathered t'see y'off," Rawlstow warned as the four kings and queens prepared to depart, thick sandwiches of Vroxa's fresh bread in their packs for the noon meal. "Y'know what gossips birds c'n be."
Peter gave a lopsided smile that was half a grimace. "You'd think you could escape an audience in the northern wilds…"
Rawlstow snorted softly. "Beggin' yer pardon, majesty, but don't let them hear y'calling this th'wilds of Narnia. They all think we're quite civilized here."
"Since you have a healer?" Lucy suggested mischievously, hearing a hint of pride in the fox's voice.
"That m'be part of it," he admitted.
Peter shrugged, grinning carelessly. "Well, if they want a grand departure, let's give them what they want."
None of them had their crowns, but that made no difference to the gathered animals who had never dreamed they might see even one of the sovereigns of Narnia. Nodding and smiling to their loyal subjects on all sides, the four rulers began their ride back to Cair Paravel.
* Illustration can be found in the Narnia folder of my DeviantArt account.
I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that this story is formatted using British spellings.)
Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie